


The Matchmaker

by cordeliadelayne



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Eames is oblivious, First Kiss, Getting Together, Kissing, M/M, Matchmaking, actions speak louder, arthur has feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-06-02 16:55:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6574384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cordeliadelayne/pseuds/cordeliadelayne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Saito prides himself on seeing what others don't and sets out to help Arthur and Eames get together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Matchmaker

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to Livejournal in 2010.

Saito is not a judgemental man. If he were his business empire would not have grown as quickly as it has. But he is an observant man, more than anyone has ever given him credit for. Just as it was easy for him to realise that he was in a dream of young Arthur’s construct, so it is that he knows that the Point Man is in love with the Forger.

He thinks that Cobb would know this too, if Cobb were not so blinkered by his need to get home to his family. It is an epic tale of despair that the Extractor weaves around himself, one that Saito has seen play out on the stage innumerable times.

He thought that the Forger would be sure to know. But it seems that he is mistaken. Eames is a man of many faces, none of them his own; he wears others' emotions like Arthur wears his suits, impeccably. But sometimes it seems that he is blinded by his own idea of what he will see, that his reality wavers just out of his grasp.

Arthur knows. Saito is sure of that. In the way his body stills, just so, when Eames approaches too close. In his resolute looks when Eames touches him once too often, or calls him a pet name in that affectionate tone. Arthur knows he loves Eames but doesn't know how to be in love.

Saito decides to help.

* * * * *

“You should just tell him,” Saito says. He and Arthur are sitting in the largest suite of Saito's newest hotel acquisition, drinking green tea. Saito knew that Arthur would feel at home in these ceremonial surroundings, allowing him to relax just a fraction. Just a fraction is all that Saito ever needs.

“Tell him?” Arthur asks. He sips once more at his tea, his legs crossed stiffly as he sits on the floor. Saito regards him coolly for a moment. It doesn’t appear that Arthur is yet ready to face his own desires.

“Mr Eames.”

Arthur's mouth twists into something hard. “And what exactly would you have me tell him? I haven't even seen him in months,” he adds and there is just the hint of bitterness lacing the words.

Saito smiles. Satisfied. “You do not want to live a life of regrets. Every waking moment is more precious than the next.”

Arthur stares at him, then places the tea cup back on the table. “I'm not sure what you think - “ But Saito raises a hand and Arthur stops, obediently polite as always.

“He does not think he will be allowed to have what he wants and so he has convinced himself that you do not want it either.”

“It?” Arthur asks, voice quiet, gaze intense.

“Love,” the older man says, and Arthur's shoulders slump down, just a little, just enough.

* * * * *

The heat is stifling and Arthur curses the fact that Eames always does this. Always hides out in the hottest, _filthiest_ places he can.

It has taken Arthur longer than he would like to admit to track Eames down. In a fit of pique he'd decided not to bother tracking him after a month had passed since he'd last heard from the forger and that had cost him a great deal of time.

But there is he is, lounging against the bar. Arthur takes a step forward and then hesitates. Eames has turned to talk to the woman next to him, a stunning blonde with just the right amount of cleavage on show. He is tracing a finger up the woman's arm and she is leaning forwards, and Arthur is turning and leaving and rushing out into the street with no idea where he is going except _away._

* * * * *

He curses to himself as he navigates his way back to the airport. Back home. And then most inventively he curses Saito, for planting the idea in his head in the first place.

He stops dead then, right in the middle of the street with car horns blaring at him to get out of the way. But he doesn't move until he has reassured himself again, and again, and again, that he is very much not in a dream.

In some ways he wishes that he was.

* * * * *

“Why are you following me?”

Arthur looks up from the book he has been pretending to read. The airport is crowded, just like everywhere else. One flight had been delayed, and then another, until the air thrums with a desperate need and no one to fill it. Arthur has given up expecting to leave before tomorrow.

“I'm not,” Arthur says after a moment. He is aware of how childish, how _petulant_ he sounds, but there is nothing that he can do about that right now.

Eames glares at him. “Arthur.” His tone is a clear warning and Arthur wonders when that happened, when fondness turned to annoyance.

“I just...” He frowns and takes a moment to put his book away neatly in his bag. “I hadn't heard from you in a while. I just wanted to make sure that you were all right.”

It sounds ridiculous. Arthur has never gone out of his way to find Eames before. But then, the Fischer job had changed all their perspectives. Maybe Eames will believe him.

Eames sits down on the floor opposite Arthur. They stare at each other and Arthur waits for something to happen. Because there is no way, no power that he possesses, that will let him make the first move.

* * * * *

They are in Eames' flat. Arthur takes a sip from the glass of water Eames has given him and reruns the route here in his mind. He can remember how he got here. He is not dreaming.

He's not sure whether this is good or not.

* * * * **

Eames has been strangely silent, merely offering him some leftovers and a roof over his head once it became clear that Arthur would not be leaving the country for at least another day.

Arthur feels like he is walking on eggshells and is careful not to break any. Being careful is what he does best.

* * * * *

The sheets are silk and cool to the touch. Eames had shown him where the bathroom is, where the towels are kept and then had left.

“I have a job to finish,” he had said, though Arthur hadn’t asked. “I'll be back later.”

Arthur isn’t sure whether he believes him or not.

The more he thinks about it, the more he thinks Eames is lying.

* * * * *

He doesn't know what possess him but he's alone in Eames' flat, and frustrated with himself. And the only other person who seems to know what he's thinking is hundreds of miles away.

But, he suspects, always with a phone nearby.

* * * * *

Saito lets the warmth spread into his voice as he answers Arthur’s call. He expects there to be good news.

He should know better.

“You did not tell him?”

There is a frustrated sigh on the other end of the line. “How can I? I can't just...” Saito imagines that Arthur is looking dishevelled now, perhaps even running a hand through his once neatly coiffed hair. Saito thinks in another lifetime he would have enjoyed seeing that.

“You simply have to tell him.” Saito pauses, an idea forming. “You do not need to use words, if they are too cumbersome. I have always placed actions far above intent.”

There is silence for a long while, long enough that the woman lying next to Saito grows tired and heads to the bathroom. He watches her distractedly then turns back to the phone call.

“If he kills me, I _will_ haunt your dreams.”

Saito laughs, a rich sound that echoes through his bedroom, because he knows that Arthur means it with every fibre of his being.

* * * *

It's 5am when Eames returns home. Arthur has been dozing lightly in the armchair opposite the door and Eames freezes upon seeing him.

There is something different about this Arthur, the one that has travelled miles to find him and won't say why. This Arthur who looks like he's stayed up all night, hair mussed, tie completely gone. Eames finds his poker chip in his pocket and rubs his fingers along it, finding all the secret marks that only his fingers would recognise. He did it the moment he saw Arthur's reflection in the mirror at the bar where he was working at picking up a mark's wife and he did it again on the way to the airport, and then on the way to the flat. Each time he has found what he has been looking for.

And each time he wonders what that is.

* * * * *

“Arthur, love, time for breakfast.”

Arthur stirs, blinking awake slowly. “You're home,” he says. Eames smiles, bemused.

“Yes, Arthur, I am. Which still doesn't explain why you’re here.”

Eames should know not to underestimate Arthur. He should know that the man has hidden depths that he will never give up, secrets buried inside secrets. He should know that Arthur can surprise him, always, constantly.

But Arthur's hand upon his neck, the soft pull he gives to make Eames' mouth connect to his sends a deep shock to his very core.

He doesn't have time to focus on that, though, merely on the way Arthur licks his way into his mouth, the way Arthur tastes of forgotten wonders, the way he doesn't let Eames go until they both are desperate with the need to breathe.

“What – what was that?” Eames asks, possibly the stupidest reaction to being kissed he's ever had.

Arthur's eyes are wide and guileless. “I've been afraid to do that for a very long time,” he says.

“Afraid, of little old me?” Eames says, but he frowns when he sees Arthur wince, sees him already shutting down. Sees something inside the point man start to crack. “You need never be afraid of me,” he whispers softly, putting his hand over Arthur's, quickly, wanting to curl his words back, away from what ever wound they've tugged at. “Never.”

Arthur stills, his body's desire to flee warring with his heart's desire to stay. Eames waits him out, his hand a reassuring pressure. He had no idea and he curses himself for his own blindness.

That first day when they'd met, on their very first job together, Arthur had proven himself a true stick-in-the-mud and Eames an outrageous flirt and that was how Eames had thought it was always going to be. Those were the roles that he had assigned to them without even considering whether Arthur wanted to play the game.

He never considered how others might want to play the game. And now he felt the rules slipping out of his grasp.

Arthur has been watching him intently, seeing the shift in expression he doesn't try to hide. Arthur's answering smile is small.

“Can I stay?” he asks and Eames looks at him, really looks. Dreams and reality smash into each other as he thinks of all the moments they nearly lost, and all the ones they have.

“Always,” he says and surprises himself by how much he means it.

Arthur's smile is real then, one reserved for Eames and Eames alone. And he will treasure it always.

And Saito will have brought another family together, using only the power of suggestion.

It becomes a habit he finds hard to break.


End file.
